Part of the Library
by Emmeebee
Summary: In Irma Pince's opinion, Quidditch game days are the best Saturdays in the world.


Winding her way through the maze of well-stocked bookshelves that comprised her library, Irma Pince absentmindedly hummed out a soft melody. The tune closely resembled that of a popular song she'd heard a Gryffindor serenading his girlfriend with the Monday before, just moments before she'd given them both their final warning and banished them from her kingdom of books and solitude for the rest of the week.

"Return the books to their rightful abode," she sang under her breath as she, her wand out to control their movements, did just that. "Clean up the messes that the upstarts leave. Everything must soon be stowed so I can finally sit and breathe."

Had any of the students heard her, they would have most likely mocked her with stifled chortles and spiteful whispers accusing her of bastardising one of their favourite songs. As it was, however, she didn't have to worry about that. Indeed, she didn't have to concern herself with anything at all. Normally, she would have been mortally offended at the sound of someone singing in her precious abode, regardless of how quiet they might have been. But _that_ Saturday was a wonderful exception to everything, so she figured she might as well make some concessions in regards to that strictly enforced rule as well.

It was, after all, the morning of a Quidditch match, so the library was almost completely empty. A few of the more studious – or, possibly, less organised – students were scattered throughout the large room as they tried to cram as many essays into as short a period of time as possible, but they were few and far between. The likelihood of them causing a disturbance or needing her assistance was slim; people who forwent watching the match in order to study tended to either be the quieter sort or to give up at the first sign of real difficulty, almost as if they had been waiting for an excuse to leave since they had first arrived. And the best part of Quidditch days was that they tended to be just that; _whole_ _days_. Even after the game, students seemed to be more inclined to celebrate or commiserate its outcome than to study. As such, the state of blissful peace that came from having the library to herself would most likely persist for the rest of the day.

She did so love Quidditch weekends. Most days, she had to constantly split her attention between the foreseeable tasks of keeping the library orderly and answering students' questions and her impromptu duty of keeping problem students in line. There were always frantic students so desperate to finish their essays before the next day of classes that they couldn't be bothered to concern themselves with putting their books back in anything even resembling the place they'd found it. She had lost count of the number of times she'd found a book in the wrong section of the library. If she didn't have the Alphabetisation Spell to fix the matter for her, she would have seriously considered petitioning the Headmaster for the right to refuse exit to anyone who couldn't prove that they had returned their books properly. And then, perhaps worse still, there were always a few rowdy students who had been roped into keeping their stressed friend company but who were more concerned with gossiping and relaxing than with observing the library's rules regarding food consumption and noise levels. She knew that, technically, that _was_ a set part of her job, but she preferred the organisational and administrative portion of her role.

Catching sight of a stray Gryffindor, she abruptly cut off mid-lyric so as not to be caught and focused her attention on the older boy. Feeling like a fox protecting her babies, she watched as the kid started flicking through a bulky volume on the history of pottery. She had found that students were more likely to rebel when they were researching something they found boring, so she didn't have high hopes for this one. To her surprise, however, he appeared perfectly content to read the book he'd selected. After a few minutes, she declared him most-likely-trustworthy and continued on her way.

Some of her peers would – and did – say that she was too harsh on the children, insisting that it was good to be observant but that one should never get to the stage where they're openly distrustful of their pupils. A few of the speakers at the most recent librarians' conference she'd attended had posited that it was more beneficial to create a laidback environment that would invite students in than it was to maintain discipline. She personally thought that idea was hogwash. What was the point in having a hundred students in the library if none of them had the opportunity to concentrate?

Besides, none of those speakers had ever met a bunch of unruly Gryffindors or Hufflepuffs. They, in her experience, were the worst offenders. Gryffindors tended to be the most abrasive and disrespectful, flagrantly breaking her rules and then expecting a sassy comment or suave grin to charm her into excusing their offence. They generally moved about in small packs and gossiped amongst themselves as they ostensibly worked. Hufflepuffs were, arguably, better; the chatter that came from their 'group study sessions' usually sounded focused and productive. Alas, they still made more noise than they had any right making, and she often had to instruct them to borrow the books they needed so they could collaborate elsewhere. She sometimes felt guilty when they respectfully complied with her demands, but a school library really wasn't the place for such chinwagging, irrespective of how productive it might be.

But, on Quidditch weekends, she rarely had to deal with any of that. The students who came in were generally dedicated and purposeful, thus leaving her to focus on her _proper_ duties. Those days were just undeniably peaceful; she could bustle around and get her work done and actually enjoythe process for once.

Humming softly once again, she made her way around her personal little labyrinth, neatening everything up before returning to her usual spot at the front desk. It was as if any remaining tension dispelled itself from her body the moment she sat down.

She did so love Quidditch.

* * *

A/N:

Challenges:

Cluedo/Clue Challenge – prompts: Irma Pince, pottery, distrustful

If You Dare Challenge – prompt: my job


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